Wildhearts Can't Be Broken
by sofia-carby
Summary: Set after Catching Fire. My take on MOCKINGJAY. The revolution is starting and Katniss is stuck in District 13, far away from Peeta and the Capitol. She's feeling stuck and useless; angry for being used as bait. Katniss/Peeta/Gale.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a fanfic that takes place after Catching Fire, my take on Mockingjay you may say. It starts out I District 13, where revolution is being planned. Katniss is in the middle of it and she wants to save the people captured. She aches over Peeta and feels guilty, trapped. Also, my take on the Peeta/Katniss/Gale triangle. Please read and review and mind my English since it's not my native language. Enjoy and Happy Hunger Games!**

I thought I knew nightmares. I have been inside of several; death snapping at my ankles, their saliva leaving traces and their teeth tearing future scars. My father's death. Our near-starvation. Prim's prominent bone cage that was her chest. My mother's depression. The reaping. The games. The time after. The time up until now. A time of fear and anger and disappointments.

Yes, I thought I knew nightmares. But now I realize what they truly are, how horrifying they can get. Standing in the woods with unbearable memories stitched into my mind. Standing in the shadows of dictatorship, of human hatred. A tree trunk supports my soul and heavy heart; my palms digging into the branches with the pain reminding me to breathe. I inhale smoke. I inhale death. I inhale the remains of the only wrecked home I ever knew, District 12. It's gone. The skeleton houses are black and empty with fire's aftertaste and everything, ev-er-y-thing is destroyed. Gone. I spot our first - our real - home. There's nothing left. Not even a trace of life that was once lived there, however depressing that life sometimes was. Beyond that I see the remains of Gale's house. My chest starts to sting. Before I can stop myself my gaze goes further beyond the ashes that were once houses, Victor's village, my new house, Haymitch's house. Peeta's house. My eyes dart between them until I am dizzy and my heart hurts. They're all gone, too, the ground bare and black. Wiped clean. A message, perhaps. We who caused – who started – the trouble. Destroyed. I see the town square. Memories swirl within me, flashes of the reaping creeping up from my sub-conscious; memories I desperately try to suffocate; memories that wake me with twisted sheets and a 2 a.m. body bathing in sweat. But they are out in the open now, and swirl together with the smoke.

'_Primrose Everdeen!'_

_No, no …_

'_I volunteer, I volunteer as tribute!'_

'_Up you go, Catnip.'_

'_Peeta Mellark!'_

_Peeta_ …Where it all began. Where Gale was tortured. I shudder, every movement causing sharp pain to cut through my body and soul. I am not sad to see it gone. No, I am not sad. I allow myself a moment to curl into myself, breathe the pain and choke on the cries I hold inside. I will not cry. I will not be weak. So many lives have been lost and mine was barely spared. I will not be weak. My hand curls into a fist and fresh leaves crumple under my flawless Capitol fingers. I let them go and see them go with the wind. Then I exhale and straighten my spine and cast one last look over District 12, my home. Correction: my former home. The sky is clear and blue, the smoke not quite being able to cover it. That gives me hope. A shard of hope in this wasteland of pain and loss.

I turn around and find Gale watching me, just standing there next to the tree trunk. His eyes are quiet, serious. A gray mess of no emotions, never giving anything away. I stare back, our quietness breathing our pain and our loss loudly. This is not a time for hugging. This is not a time for comforting words and soft shoulders to absorb tears. This is bigger, greater than that. We both know it. His gaze shift and his eyes take in the destruction of District 12. The ruins. I see his mask falter, his emotions trying to claw their way out that stone face. I know exactly what he's feeling. Well, I almost do.

Gale lost his baby sister in the bombing of District 12. Many people lost people they loved. More than two thirds of our district died. I heard it was chaos. Fiery, burning chaos engulfing people and lives. Sparing no one. Gale saved my tiny family's life. I owe him everything for that. He told me I owed him nothing, stubborn as usual.

I see him swallow and then he looks at me again. We're in the clearing where we have met a million times in the past. Mellow Sundays, sunrise to sunset. In the summer our limbs were brown and sun-stained and our bellies were full of fresh game and late-summer berries. The dirt stained our nails and the blueberries our cheeks and the Capitol our dreams. The future always seemed brighter on Sunday nights back then. We were hopeful children, the reaping a once-a-year black cloud we had to worry about. The Games lingering in our minds but we never knew. We never knew loss like this.

He starts to say something but a noise cuts through his words and they are lost to the still, loud wind. We automatically turn our faces skyward and see a black shape, melting into the smoke. A hovercraft. Not making much of a noise, but enough to make us aware of its presence. I close my eyes and smell pine trees and home. It's time for us to leave. I don't know whether or not we will return. I touch the back of Gale's hand with three fingers and take cold comfort there. He clasps my hand and together, wordlessly we say goodbye to a place that was well loved by us. Perhaps it is the wind or perhaps it is sweet sorrow; but my eyes sting and my cheeks are damp. Then the ground disappears under my feet and together we leave our home behind.

District 13 is different. There are ruins here, too, so most of the district is in the woods and underground. Force fields protect them – us – from the Capitol. Blink and you will miss the mass of people huddling underground and in cabins in the woods, living their lives with a determination I wish I possessed. The men in the woods hunt and gather in the day and guard at night. Most women are underground, tending to the lives of what's left of their shattered families. Everyone is trying to build a new community. Behind closed doors of steel are people I have yet to meet, important people. The core of the undercover group, the core of the revolution. Mockingjay symbols are everywhere and wherever I walk people hush and stare. I am a celebrity as I was a celebrity in District 12. I do not wish to be one and shrink away from their awed gazes and admiring whispers. I do not deserve this. I do not deserve to give them hope; soaring high in the smoky sky. Some approach me at times, hesitantly grazing my sleeve as I walk by as to make sure I am real. I wonder if I disappoint them when I don't grow black and white feathers and sing of a future I know we – I – will never have?

No one tells me anything. I am lost here, no freedom to speak of. It is as if electric fences with no holes are around me, growing up into the heavens, impossible to climb over or to tear down with my bare hands. Gale and mostly I had to stubbornly whine and I screamed foul names at Haymitch, trying to rip his skin off with my already torn fingernails until they let us go to district 12. I haven't seen him since, blood streaming down is haggard face – making new scars in the old ones and made so many weeks ago. He looked like he wanted to claw me right back. I couldn't care less. I don't care a lot these days. When I was released from the hospital wing I was put underground in a tiny room. My mother and Prim live next door and Gale is stuck up in the woods in a cabin. He's on guard duty. He also gets to hunt, putting his skills to good use. I want to hunt, too, but they will not let me. They will not let me do anything. They will not tell me anything. I once again feel like a paw in their game._ Peeta_. No, I will not think of him. His name only brings me pain that sends shockwaves through my body and I have enough of that these days. I am tired to crouch like a wounded animal; a bird with an arrow buried deeply into the fragile flesh of her wing.

After we get back from District 12 I am ushered into "protection" within minutes, two men from District 13 escorting me. I don't even have time to say goodbye to Gale. I have not said one word to him since he told me District 12 literally had gone up in smoke. There is so much to say and I don't know how to say it. They look a lot like us – District 13 - except their eyes are a bright green. It's easy to separate them from us, even though we're supposed to be "one". One united force against the Capitol, one united mass of rebellion-thirsty people. We're a big mix of people from different districts, our hope and faith holding us together by strong vines, never snapping, never bending, never breaking. Yet I search the masses for a boy with blue eyes and blonde waves and every day I find none.

It's twilight out, the sky a massive sheet of purple and I greedily inhale the fresh air and dig my heels into the damp earth until they almost pull my arms out of their sockets forcing me down in under. We enter through a well-camouflaged door in the ground. Inside it's damp and smells of spring-dirt. It is daylight down here but I have yet to figure out how they manage that. I know my way down here by now. I know what hides in the corners, what rooms are locked and the useless ones that are not. The first days I lay in my bed doing nothing, feeling nothing. District 12 gone. Peeta gone. Cinna gone. Probably dead, all of them. Gale was doing God knows what and my mother was constantly busy with her new job. Haymitch refused to see me since I only spat in his face for answers. What was the point of even getting up? But Prim – sweet, sweet Prim with her broken arm - crawled up next to me whenever she got a chance and placed pleading whispers in my reluctant ears. She braided my hair with her small, soft fingers and tended to me like my mother tends to the wounded people in the hospital wing. She was like an annoying mosquito and her begging finally got me up one day; I took a bath, explored the place until I figured out there was no exit I could pass through and then yelled until my throat got covered in blisters. I demanded action. I demanded to see Haymitch. I demanded to see Gale. I demanded for action to be taken. I demanded to do something useful. My efforts were totally pointless. They just ended up locking my door, causing Prim to cry and me to lose my voice and get fists numb from pounding. Then I just quietly demanded to see the people I missed so much my sticky insides ached. _Peeta._ I had failed in protecting him. I had failed to bring him home.

Since then I have walked around – underground - where I am allowed, trying – desperately – to find whatever scraps of information that I can gather with my greedy fingers and mind and ears. Trying to find a way out. Perhaps I am foolish and immature but I can't just sit around doing nothing. Hopelessness was an everyday feeling in District 12 and even more so in the arena. But now I know that there is a way out, there is a way to get out there and take action. But now they will not let me. They will not even let me into the woods I cherish with my entire being; where I transform into a living creature that breathes properly. Being to District 12 was the first time I got fresh air since the Games and the first time I saw Gale since he visited me in the hospital wing. It was the most fun I'd had in weeks; at least the most sense of freedom I have had in a while. We were heavily guarded obviously. Capitol people were still everywhere, looming in our woods, our blackberry bushes and destructed home. According to our guards. I didn't really believe that, though. The Capitol had thrown firebombs. They had seen the bodies. Their dirty work there was done. The mess left was of no importance. They had uprisings in a few districts to take care of; even though the rebellions have decreased greatly since district 12 imploded. The Capitol is slowly restoring power. Meanwhile we are doing something I am not sure of. Building an army, perhaps. I am of no use, that much I know. I do know, however, that the Capitol will use Peeta as bait. To get me running, so fast my feet will break.

My guards drop me off outside my room. I ignore them both, knowing they have nothing but disappointment to give me. I have already begged and searched and tried to steal. I turn my back to them.

'Hold on,' the tallest one of them says. I lift my gaze to him. 'We've received instructions to bring you to the Center.' I just stare at him.

'The Center,' he repeats; pronouncing the word with an accent I have gotten used to, pronouncing it with the sort of voice you use when you speak to a child, as if I am slow. 'Haymitch wants to talk to you.'

I grasp the words and hold onto them so tightly my fingers start to ache. Finally.

The Center is big and has the form of a circle. It hides in the depths of the underground behind doors of steel. More doors are behind those doors but I suspect I am in the main room. A round table is placed in the middle and a huge television is on the left wall. It is bright and in it there are a lot of people I have never seen. They rush about, the sound of their feet echoing. To my surprise I see Mayor Undersee, though I am not sure what his title is now that District 12 is no longer. My chest tightens and my kneecaps turn to jelly. _Don't think about it_. I wonder where Madge is – I haven't seen her since before the Games either. I hope she is all right and wonder if I should ask him. Perhaps not. I realize I have to make a list soon; paper-and-ink names of people I hope are alive. Peeta. I cringe. _Don't. Think. About. It._

'Sweetheart.'

Haymicth appears before me, band-aids covering his face. That brings me extreme satisfaction. He only smells faintly of spirits and grease, which – I have to admit - is an immense improvement from when I first got in close contact with him. Yet I feel more disgust than I ever did back then. I feel hatred toward this man who is the cause Peeta is not here. He used me as bait.

He smiles slightly, arrogance curling the corners of his mouth. He senses my disgust, I am sure.

'The girl who was on fire. I need to talk to you.'

I stand still, forcing myself not to utter one single word even though there are a hundred clawing up my throat, aching to spill out all over this loud floor. If he wants an answer he will not get any. He notices my stubbornness and smiles wider.

'You probably have a lot of … questions. Which will all be answered when the time is right. Until then you will get assigned a few tasks to keep you occupied.'

I can't stop myself.

'I can hunt?'

He raises his chin, his smile craters getting deeper. He knew I was going to ask and I already know what the answer will be. 'No, that's too dangerous.'

'I am not afraid of danger.'

He must hear the way my voice goes up an octave, anger making my vowels shiver.

'I know you're not, don't you think you've proved your courage again and again in the arena?' He shakes his head slightly. 'You cannot hunt because the Capitol is out searching for you, for me and for the rest of the game's survivors. Perhaps later. But not now.'

He is making sense and I know it. I have to swallow my anger and frustration and it taste bitter.

'So what can I do?'

He grins. 'Teach.'

I am taken aback. I can't teach anything, I have no knowledge.

'Teach? Teach who what?' Images of small children and a classroom flash before me.

'Teach some of the people here about surviving. About living when your life is almost lost.'

I stay quiet, pondering his words.

'You can't put that into words. Besides, why should they listen to me?'

'Then show them. Show them how to do snares, how to think, what not to do when you are alone in the forest. That you know a lot about, don't you, sweetheart?' Haymitch replies in a harsher tone; barbed wired words that do not make me wince. This is the Haymitch I got to know. This is my mentor.

'Show them how to camouflage yourself from the enemy.' That was Peeta's specialty. 'And how to fight off your enemy.' Again, Peeta's specialty.

'Katniss, you need to teach them. They have to know this – there will come a time – a time soon, where that knowledge will be crucial.'

'And,' he adds in a softer tone; 'they will listen to you. They worship you, Katniss, You are their Mockingjay, their hope covered in flesh and bones. You are breathing, living thing that survived the Capitol. That's all they want, too. Just look around.'

I lift my gaze toward the people, who are behind us, the sound of their feet never stopping. They are running around all right, but some of them slow their step and look me over curiously. I stare back and see bodies that are tawny after years of starvation, of hard work. Bony faces with hard edges and eyes that store hope.

I sigh.

'Alright,' I say, looking at Haymitch again who's got this superior look on his face. 'I'll do it.'

'Great,' he says, non-surprised. Then he reaches for his bottle with clear liquid and a crumbled label. 'First class starts tomorrow.'

The two guard dogs from district 13 magically appear by my side, ready to escort me out.

'I can walk on my own,' I snarl. Haymitch laughs and waves his hand.

'Let her go by herself. It's not like she can go anywhere. Right, sweetheart?'

I just smile sweetly. I'm going to prove he's wrong. I am going to get out and the first person I'll see will be Gale.

**Please review and thank you for reading! More to come.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the reviews! I hope you are enjoying reading it because I'm sure enjoying writing it. There's a tad more action in this chapter, and in the following chapters. Please enjoy and review, prettiest. **

Since it's the tender time between day and night, those who have been out come home. Those who have been undercover, received information from inside the Capitol, they get on the hovercraft and arrive with fresh information to Haymitch and the rest. I spot a few as I walk out the steel doors. I realize then that this is the time to do it, to get out.

I start to run through the damp corridors and cavities, the smell of fresh dirt in my nostrils. I need to get to the exit because this is the time I can try – have to – sneak out. The corridors are filled with people coming in and people walking around and people people people. It's a crowd of bobbing heads. I slow my step and tuck my braid inside my black jacket, which I zip up to my chin. I keep my gaze on the swept floor so I won't attract any attention. This also makes it easier because I don't have to see in their eyes whether or not the information is positive or negative. I don't really want to know because if it's bad I don't know if the flesh and bone in my legs are enough to support me.

I zigzag through the crowd and spot the door a few feet away. I cast a glance in the direction from where I arrived and no one is paying any attention to me. My heart soars. This is the time. It's really now or never.

As quietly as I can I walk toward the door, avoid a bronze-haired boy from District 4 who's got tense expression on his face and slip out the door.

Fresh air caresses my face and I take a tentative step toward the woods, trying to locate myself quickly. We're right at the edge of the forest; perched where District 13's fence used to be. Now it's just a melted mass of dark metal that seeps into the ground. I carefully step over it and crouch next to a tiny pine tree. My nerves are on edge and my skin is crawling and adrenaline is making my muscles stretch painfully in my thighs. But I made it. I am free – for the moment.

I cast a glance over to where I came from. People are still going inside, spilling out from the gray hovercraft. A group of tall men are talking urgently to one another and I nibble at my torn nails as I try to listen in. Useful or not, bad or good; I do need information. Whatever Haymitch says.

'… _boy is as good as dead.'_

'… _they think the Uprisings have stopped but they're wrong …'_

'… _bait.'_

'… _we need to leave and we need to leave soon.'_

Dread seep into me. I can only catch fragments of the conversation with my palms and ears – but the information is fragile and I need more. What boy is as good as dead? Peeta? I don't know who else they could mean and I feel frozen under my ribs. Haymitch said they wouldn't kill him. But still. That doesn't mean they will not torture him for information he cannot spill because he possesses none. I dig my nails into the harsh texture of the tree and a familiar anger and frustration and longing bubbles within me. Peeta is many miles away and I cannot do anything.

I watch the men scatter inside and the door closes after a few breaths. I sit still for a bit, spotting the guards who're walking around close to me. I force myself to drop the thoughts of Peeta and do what I set out here to do. I don't need the guilt for leaving him behind wrapping around me, making me heavy. My leg is starting to cramp because of the cold and I want to get up but do not dare to because then the guards will see me and it's going to be game over. So I force myself to grit my teeth and wait until twilight melts into black night that can cover me.

When the tips of my fingers are close to numb and the guard closest has his back to me I slowly get up, careful with my hard and stiff limbs not making any noise. I need to find Gale. I have to talk to him.

I silently wonder if one of the guards I have around me is him but it's hard to see in the pitch darkness. I can easily spot prey in the woods in District 12 but these woods are different. They're colder and there aren't as many trees with leaves on their skinny branches. These are deep woods and therefore darker. I crane my neck to see better but it's useless. I bury my teeth in my lip and think of my next move. If I run they will hear me and I'll just be a lost deer with no direction. I cannot creep around all night trying to find Gale out here because then I'll freeze to death. I can't make it to the Cabins where the hunters and guards live because they're on the other side of the District. I need a better plan and my lack of preparation for this is making me even more frustrated. I take a few steps toward a larger pine tree and sink down, resting on my belly and my elbows supporting me.

I ponder this for a while. If Gale were game, what would I do? If he were a deer with beautiful fur we desperately needed to survive January's biting cold, how would I catch him? What would be the first crucial step?

_I would climb up a tree. _

The answer comes easy to me; so obvious I nearly kick myself where I am on my poor stomach under the frosty tree. I crane my neck and look up through the thick sticky branches that cloud the sky. Pine needles don't make as much of a noise as leaves do and the guards will probably think it's an animal. My jacket is black to they won't think there's anything to worry about there. The odds are really in my favor. Hopefully.

I sigh slightly and get up on all fours. Then I slowly, slowly – keeping my eyes on the guard a few yards away – reach for the first branch. It's thick and will hopefully hold. My fingers scream in pain for being still in the cold for so long. I ignore it. I've had worse.

It takes forever but it gets the job done. When I am perched at least ten branches above the ground I allow myself to relax slightly. I hold onto the trunk and look over the district. The moon is out and I can spot maybe a dozen guards. I look them over carefully and see one that might just be Gale. Thankfully he is rather close to where I am stuck. Now I just have to get to him without causing any sounds. I look around and think about moving from tree to tree like Rue. Rue. I sigh as my heart contracts. _Ignore it, ignore it._

I quickly drop that train of thought, however, since I know I will make too much of a noise and therefore alert the guards. My only option really is to try and creep. Thankfully I have had a lot of practice over the years and in the arena. I know how to move silently around danger.

I carefully climb down, holding my breath until my lungs ache from being pressed against my limbs. Then I move right, my back bent over and my gaze darting around me. My palms are sweating even though it's cold enough for your breath to freeze in a cloud around you. I can't help it; it feels as if I am back in the arena, nerves spaghetti in my starved body. The moon is painting misshapen shadows everywhere and I don't know what will happen if I step on an animal. I silently pray such an event won't occur as I make my way around a raspberry bush, its thorny edges raking over my cheek, bringing unwelcome, automatic tears to my eyes. I swipe them off with an annoyed gesture, biting the soft insides of my cheeks. The night is awfully quiet around here and it feels like the calm before the storm. Great. If only an owl could howl or the woods make normal forests-noises. My heart is racing in my swollen chest, threatening to rip through my skin and spoil my location. I wonder if anyone else can hear the warm blood rushing rushing rushing in my cold veins at a speed I can hardly keep up with.

I can see Gale clearly now and I place I quiet sigh of relief in my cupped palm. He's walking around at the area, which he's assigned to, gaze ahead. I wonder how I'll get to him. Making a noise would alert the others. Walking up to him would alert the others. I'm stuck and out of ideas.

I sink down on the frozen ground, pressing my fingers to my lips to warm them. Small pebbles are at my feet, stuck to the dead grass. That gives me an idea. I pick up a handful and look around. I trust my arm to be strong since I've shot arrows since I was little. I spot a clearing far back and decide it's my best shot, pulling my arm back and throwing the rock in that direction. My arm creaks and I silently curse it, watching the tiny rock fly in the air. I hold my breath when it bumps hard against a tree causing and echo to ring through the forest. The voices of the men wrap around me as they shout orders to go inspect. I smile and turn to Gale. He's gone. I curse, loud.

'Over there!'

Someone's shouting and feet are stomping, rushing through the stiff branches that snap; each sound a gunshot ringing through the endless night.

'Crap,' I hiss and turn around. I need to get out of here and fast. Otherwise they'll catch me and never let me out of the dreadful undergrounds. So I start to run, my legs working slowly like the time I was stung in the arena. I slap my tights hard with the back of my sore hand to get them moving. Then I am running, flying through the woods, the voices and yells and chaos behind me. I hear words like traitor, spying and catch him behind me but I don't exactly stay to listen closely. I dart between the trees like a rabbit, no a wolf, rabbits are captured. They are prey. I am not prey. I'm moving loudly at first but more silently later; my feet slowing their pace. I throw the last of my pebbles in the other direction and hear the voices drift over there. Then I start to run again, slowly at first.

I let out a laugh of relief as the sound of rushing feet behind me slowly evaporates into silent forest echoes. I made it! As I am pressing my hands to my knees breathing hard, trying to catch oxygen in the icy air, a black shape slams into me. It comes from nowhere and it's heavy and strong and warm. I have one second of confusion and one second of cursing myself for not being ready, for letting my guard slip. Then instinct forcefully kicks in and I am kicking, biting and clawing to get away. My only thought is on staying alive, getting away; even though this isn't the arena. Still, my brain does not care about the difference. I need to get away to defend myself. We make very little noise and I can tell it's a human from the smell, which is neither the clinical smell from mutts nor the musky smell from game. I make a fatal mistake then. I bite at a pair of hands and turn my back in an attempt to wiggle my way out, to flee and not to fight. The person I'm fighting seizes his opportunity then and places a knee at the small of my back, causing me to fall face first into the mixture of ice, pine and dirt with a gasp that leave my lungs sucked dry. I taste blood, fresh and real, and feel my hands being locked behind my back. I'm defeated. I expect the sound of feet to come any second now but they're still far, far away. A new sense of dread grabs a hold of me, colder than the air around me. What if this isn't one of our guards? What if it's someone from the Capitol? I do what I have learned. I do not panic. Instead I relax my entire body and feel the grip on my hands loosen a bit. Then I twist the hardest I can and pry my hands from this stranger's grip. And once again we're tumbling around until I feel myself once again pressed down into the earth, on my back this time. Someone his breathing heavily on top of me, matching my own gasps, our rhythm becoming one. I see the stars high above and treetops and a familiar face. Gale.

I have time to feel the same shock and surprise as I see mirrored on his face until I come to my senses and put a finger to my lips. He needs to be quiet. He is still for a moment, then nods, releasing his hold on me and getting off. I can finally breathe freely and sit up a bit, looking around. Everyone's at the edge of the woods, leaving us out of earshot if we whisper in hush-wrapped voices.

'What are you doing here?' Gale's gaze is locked on the trees behind me, waiting to see if someone will interrupt us, come storming through the landscape. We only hear the wind whining around us, followed by the creaking sound of branches shivering.

'I needed to talk to you. About this. About everything. About doing something about it.'

I can detect confusion on his face and I do not blame him. He knows how I reacted the last time things got tough, when I wanted to flee, to leave it all behind. Perhaps he thinks I feel the same way now. I shake my head before he can get a word out.

'I'm not running away from this. I just need to do something. I can't sit around doing nothing, waiting for answers to come to me, waiting for action to be taken.'

I can see a smile tugging at his lips, one of those rare ones, as he feels my frustration. It is a sad smile, though, and I already know what he'll say.

'We're just going to have to wait,' he says quietly, in a tone I've heard a lot around here. We're going to wait. Until it's safe to move. But by then it may be too late.

'I don't want to wait,' I reply, sitting straighter up. I tug impatiently at my braid.

'I know. I don't either. But that's what they told me and if we leave now, I have to leave my family and in the shape they're in … I don't want to.' He hesitates for a bit, the adds: 'And you.'

I frown.

'What do you mean, leave? Where are you going?'

He looks slightly taken aback, then narrows his eyes. 'They didn't tell you?'

I narrow my eyes in return, my voice going up an octave.

'Tell me what?'

He sighs and looks around again. The forest is silent but he pulls me up and gestures for me to follow him deeper into the forest. As I walk behind him, my hand clasped in his, I feel like we're out hunting on an early morning, right before the sun makes its appearance. Like we're back in District 12, before the reaping, before Peeta and before it all. I press his cold palm tighter, digging my fingers into the mapped flesh; as if to capture this moment until it flees from our wired fingers.

When we're deep enough he releases his hold of me and straightens his back. I straighten my, too and search his tired face for answers.

'We're going to District 11. Trying to get people out. To get more people. The weak ones, those who can't fight will go here. The strong ones will help us fight. Then we're going from District to District. We need numbers until we get to the Capitol.'

Ah. So that's what Haymitch meant when he said survival knowledge would come in handy soon. They're gathering allies for a greater enemy.

'When are you leaving?'

'In one week.'

'I'm coming with.'

He laughs quietly. 'No you're not. You are the whole reason we're here. All these people. You are the reason they have hope. They – we – can't risk to lose you.'

'I can fight!' I snap. He knows that more than anyone.

'Don't you think I know that?' He snaps right back. 'I told Haymitch that you should come, that we should trust your skill. He said that he knew that, that anyone who watched the game knows that. President Snow isn't stupid, Katniss. His people aren't stupid, either, even though it seems like they are at times. They know how you operate. They know you want to go to the Capitol first thing, to fight to get to … there.'

He isn't laughing anymore and his gaze is intent in the milky shadows. I stare right back, knowing he's right, hating him for it. This feels like when we were children, when we had first met. We fought over game back then, he would never let me near the biggest prey. I knew he was right since I was a starved 12-year-old with no muscles to speak of and only a tiny bow. Yet I wanted to approach the wolves we crossed paths with. He never let me and he was right, of course.

I return his gaze and take a deep breath.

'I need to get to the Capitol. I need to fix what I caused.'

He nods and slowly touches my braid, his response sure and steadfast.

'I know that, Catnip. I will help you get there, whatever it takes. I promise.'

We just look at each other then, our silence and early morning birds in the quiet background sealing our promise. It feels as if we are alone in the entire world, the woods forever-stretching. The numbness inside breaks a little, the ice letting go. I have an ally by my side. I know Gale will not break his promise, he never does. But I do not wish to risk his life to save others.

Just then I notice the cut he has on his neck. I am fairly sure I caused it since its fresh and wet blood is seeping out the wound, trailing down over his collarbone and down under his jacket. I gesture toward it but his eyes do not leave mine as if he's transfixed, waiting for me to say something maybe, dare to speak, dare to move.

I don't know what to do, or say. I am terrible at this, handling this. So many questions and accusations linger around us; too loud. I want to say so much but can't really put it into words. About District 12. Thank him for saving my family. About Peeta. About words that were never spoken. About emotions that were spilled but never gathered.

But I am horrible at it. Because I do not know what to say because I do not know what I feel.

So I reach up and touch the edges of his wound, examine it. I trail the pattern the blood has made and stop right at the collar of his shirt. It's not deep. Apparently my fighting skills still need training. At least the hand-to-hand combat part. That makes me think for Peeta and I make some kind of movement that causes me to jerk my hand away.

I break the hold he has on me, unable to look into his eyes any longer. That intense gaze just makes me … I don't even know. Instead I look somewhere far beyond his shoulder. Dawn is slowly approaching, a faint washed out yellow catching hold in the faraway heavens.

'I think I need to go inside now. The door will open soon.'

I can feel him nod and we slowly, quietly make our way back. With Gale in the woods like this makes me wonder what would've happened if we had been together in the arena. Would he be the one in Peeta's shoes then? Would he be the one captured? Would I feel worse than I do now? But it's pointless to wonder what could've been so I push those thoughts out of the way.

When we can spot the outline of the cabins I turn to him.

'Where do you live?'

He points. 'The one faraway on the left.'

I see it and nod. It might come in handy some day.

It's full-scale dawn out when we arrive close to the doors. We can see them open and people get out, fresh and ready to spy; on District 11, too now I guess. We huddle in the bushes that surround the clearing.

'I'll cover you,' Gale says. 'Tuck your braid in, too, and keep your eyes on the ground.' That makes me smile, slightly. He takes his hat off. 'Here, put this on.' I do as he says, pulling it down so it almost covers my ears. Then we head for the doors.

'I'll come see you before you leave.'

He looks at me then, hesitates and then nods.

'I'll be off guard-duty for the rest of the week. We'll go over the escape plans.'

'Will you be in your cabin at night, then?'

He nods and that's my cue, and walk as fast as I dare toward the doors. Like when I got out, there are a lot of people and I manage to slip inside, quietly. I am not noticed, though, because all of a sudden chaos has erupted around me. People are turning around, turning back, going inside again. Panicked voices smatter urgently against the walls and I can only hear the faint echo of them, not make out the words. Frowning and not with much of a choice I follow the source of the sound and the mass of people that pull me in the direction toward the Circle. The steel doors are wide open and the TV is on. I stop at the doorframe, going inside impossibility; the room is completely crowded. I crane my neck, elbowing someone in the process to get a better look. From the horrified and disgusted and twisted facial expressions on those watching I can tell that something very, very bad has happened. I look on the TV-screen and stare at the words that are across it. There's the scenery of the Capitol that I know too well in the background and according to the words it's obligatory to watch. Then the words flash and it takes one second before I feel my stomach drop toward my frozen knees, my limbs turning numb.

_This can't be right_.

But it is. They are showing a live, public execution.

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